


Bridgeboy

by secretbraintwin



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Master/Slave, Past Rape/Non-con, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27788350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretbraintwin/pseuds/secretbraintwin
Summary: THE WAY OF KINGS SPOILERS*****Adolin hears about Kaladin wearing Parshendi armor on a bridge run and decides to buy him from Sadeas. Dub-con ensues and the power dynamics are messed up. Also Syl's understanding of relationships is less than fully developed at this point so if she seems flippant about the situation that's intentional. Tags are there for a reason.
Relationships: Kaladin/Adolin Kholin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Bridgeboy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RydiaAsuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RydiaAsuka/gifts).



Kaladin was separated from his men the next day, escorted by two guards who did not deign to tell him where, exactly they were taking him. The wretch within him assumed the worst, but storm it, he had _helped them win_. Besides, if he was to be punished for his stunt with the Parshendi armor, they could have easily beaten him or strung him up back near the barracks. No, this was…he didn’t know what it was. 

But he did know these guards were dressed in blue, not red. And they were taking him beyond the borders of Sadeas’ camp. 

~

Adolin was in the training yard when the guards brought him his newest purchase. He took off his helm, beaming, “Hail, bridgeboy!”

“Who are you and what is it that you want?” he could see the man bristle. Touchy, wasn’t he? And no bowing, that was rude. 

“Is that any way to greet your new master?”

The man’s stern face grew surprised, which was just so gratifying he couldn’t help but laugh, “Give the poor boy a bath, he smells of Sadeas. I’ll be up in a minute.” He gave the signal for his men to help him with his arm. 

~

Kaladin was stripped down and scrubbed raw, his beard shaved (despite his protests to do it himself) but his hair kept long. He was indignant at the process, but at the same time, the water was warm and he truly felt free of crem for the first time in what felt like years. 

He was dressed in a blue uniform, unadorned but a much better material than he was used to, with long trousers instead of ones that ended at the knees. And a full shirt instead of a vest. 

Then he was led to a lavish chamber. His entire home back at Hearthstone would have likely fit into just this one room. 

He heard a throat clear behind him, and that lighteyes was looking him up and down, before dismissing the guards with a wave of his hand. 

“Not afraid to be alone with a dangerous slave?” he sneered. 

“I think I can take you,” he cocked his head. “If I wanted to, that is.”

The double entendre was not lost on Kaladin and he frowned deeply, “Don’t you have that whore to entertain you or did you tire of her?”

The man’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion, “Were you that bridgeboy—”

“Bridgeman.”

“That bridgeboy that took my sphere without sending the message?”

“I never agreed to send your message. And I don’t agree to being sold. Send me back.”

“I didn’t realize slaves had to agree to be sold,” the man laughed at him again. How he hated the arrogance. “And, for your information, she was not exactly my type. But it’s interesting that’s where your mind went. Although you wouldn’t be the first man to find me attractive, bridgeboy.” He winked.

Kaladin clenched his jaw, “I don’t find you attractive.”

Syl, currently in a seated position rocking back and forth as if on a non-existent swing, chided, “That’s a lie, Kaladin.”

“Are you blushing, bridgeboy?” his tone was unbearably smug. 

The man took a step forward, but Kaladin held his ground, straightening his back and was pleased to note that he was taller. 

“Bridge _man_ ,” he said again. “And my name is Kaladin.”

“Adolin,” he said. A given name. Why so informal? He didn’t like this.

“Why have you brought me here?”

“Why did I buy you? Because Sadeas was wasting you. I saw what you did. You were clever. Brave.”

Why was he bothering with flattery? 

“I am nothing without my men. Either send me back or bring them here.”

He nodded, “My clerks are already negotiating it.”

Kaladin, not for the first time, was stunned. Who was this lighteyes?

“I thought your high prince does not allow the use of bridgemen.”

“I have no intention of using you as bridgemen. If they are half as brave as you, I want to train you as soldiers.” This was a trap. A trick. But those earnest eyes…

Kaladin turned away. He could not hope. He could not trust. Not again. He—

A hand touched his shoulder and he lashed out on instinct, grabbing his wrist and twisting it so the other man was doubled-over, hand behind his back. 

Hissing at the sheer stupidity of his action, he let go, stepping away, and dropped to a knee to prepare for the whipping he had just earned himself. 

But the lighteyes didn’t call out to his guards, just stared down at him for a moment. 

“I’m sorry, Kaladin.”

He looked up. An apology? It was just about the last thing he had expected. 

“You looked upset, and I was trying to comfort you,” he continued. “But I guess it’s clear you’re not used to that, are you?”

What a stupid thing to say. People didn’t comfort bridgemen. Bridgemen were actively reviled or, at best, ignored. 

“So let’s try this again,” he offered out a hand, palm up. Kaladin hesitantly took it, expecting to be pulled off-balance or into a restraint hold, but instead the lighteyes merely helped him to his feet. 

And then closer. 

And then, this…this lighteyes, this so-called master, pulled him into an embrace. 

Kaladin kept his arms stiffly at his sides, thinking back to Risper, back to all the young slaves who had to endure being forced to their knees or bent over furniture. He thought about his own experiences with handsy guards and cruel masters. 

But bridge four needed to get away from Sadeas. This man may not be any better, but he doubted it was humanly possible for him to be worse. So he would do what it took to keep his men safe. 

And if the man went back on his word? Well, there was little he could do about that. But if he took control, if he did things his way, he could keep this inevitability to the least amount of unpleasantness. Lighteyes got what they wanted. 

Kaladin extracted himself from the embrace, gently pushing the man away by the shoulders and steering him to a nearby chair. The lighteyes sat with little prompting, looking amused, “So much for not finding me attractive.”

He didn’t answer, knowing that whatever he said would be mocked. He looked away again as his face burned and sank to both knees between his legs, reaching for his trousers. 

“Storms, Kaladin, it’s not a race, come here,” again he was pulled up to his feet and then, to his humiliation, into the lighteyes’ lap. Adolin nuzzled into his neck and began to kiss him there, patient and gentle. The man took his jaw in hand and tilted his head to the side for easier access as the kisses grew longer. Sucking at his throat. Were his brands not enough, he had to be marked in this way, too? 

Still, this was hardly the worst treatment he had endured.

Adolin pulled back, as if a craftsman admiring his handiwork, then pulled him in to kiss him properly. Lips to lips, tongue to tongue. What was he, a woman? He didn’t need to do all this. Why didn’t he just get this over with?

But despite himself, his body began to…react. Kaladin tried to think of it as a surgeon might, just blood flowing in response to stimulation. Nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, he could feel through both of their trousers that the other man was having the same response. He should be grateful, to be with a young man. Made the process easier. He remembered he’d had one master who was older and it would take so much effort to get him to completion that usually he’d have Kaladin start sucking his cock from beneath the dinner table so he’d be erect for his decades-younger wife by the time he retired to his chambers. 

That master had never kissed him like this. No one had since Risper, when he’d begged Kaladin to take his virginity so his first memory would not be with one of their captors. 

“Bed?” Adolin offered. 

Kaladin shrugged. Like it mattered. 

As it turned out, it mattered a quite a bit. While the chair they had been in was overstuffed and firm, the bed was so soft, when Adolin laid him on his back he felt like he would sink straight through to the floor. And the sheets smelled freshly laundered, as well. He took in a deep breath, remembering helping his mother with the clothesline back in Hearthstone. The winds right after a highstorm were always freshest, made the clothes smell the nicest. 

After a moment, he realized his eyes were closed and cursed himself for being so storming off-guard. This man was the enemy. Not as much as the Parshendi, but just as deadly. 

While he had been daydreaming, the young man had stripped down to his smalls, and was in the process of carefully hanging up his uniform. Interesting, one would have thought he’d leave it in a crumpled heap, based on the appearance of his intentionally-messy hair. 

The man turned back to him with a bright smile, “Like what you see, bridgeboy?”

He scowled, about to snap back a resounding no, but then Adolin spun around dramatically, waggling his eyebrows in mock suggestiveness, and Kaladin barked out a laugh from the sheer absurdity. 

“I like him,” Syl declared, spinning and waggling her eyebrows, too.

“Be quiet,” he muttered.

“What was that?” Adolin asked. 

“I said stop playing around.”

“Oh? Would you rather me play with you instead?” he winked. 

Kaladin rolled his eyes and began to unbutton the uniform he’d been given, if nothing else than to avoid looking at him. 

He felt the bed sink next to him and the lighteyes climbed on top of him, taking over the unbuttoning and laying his chest bare. Adolin’s fingers began to trace a scar that went from his left shoulder to his sternum, “You really were a solider, weren’t you?”

“…a spearman.” Was he really going to let him be one again? And let him train bridge four? “I got that one in my first battle.”

“I got this one in a duel,” he said, turning so he could better see his flank. “The side section of the armor broke.”

He scoffed, “Hardly a battle wound if it was in a duel.”

“Oh? Want to see a battle wound?” the lighteyes stripped off his smalls and flung them to the floor, showing off a short but wide scar on his right buttocks. “Made the mistake of trying to relieve myself when we thought the Parshendi had been routed. Ended up taking an arrow to the ass.”

Syl burst out giggling, and Kaladin couldn’t help but laugh, as well. 

Adolin grinned, climbing back over him for a kiss, which he allowed. And when curious fingers began to smoothly remove his trousers, his smalls, he allowed that without resistance, either. It wasn’t until Adolin took his thighs and spread them that he broke the kiss, turning away and grasping the sheets hard to brace for pain. 

“Look at me.”

Kaladin refused. Memories intruded into his mind and he had to focus on blocking them out, forcing them out. The cold of iron chains on his ankles, his wrists. The smell of unwashed flesh. The sound of Risper’s weeping at night when they both pretended Kaladin was asleep. 

A thumb caressed his cheek, “Kaladin, look at me.”

He opened his eyes, but looked at the man’s forehead, not meeting his gaze. 

“I’m going to take good care of you, okay? If it hurts, tell me, I’ll stop. I promise.”

Kaladin trusted the promises of lighteyes about as much as he trusted cremlings to perform surgery, but he nodded curtly. 

The man gave him that winning smile again and he found himself smiling back, albeit weakly. 

Adolin reached over for something and he heard the popping of a cork. Oil? Stormfather, how long had it been since he’d actually been prepared with oil? Probably not since his second master. 

The lighteyes embraced him again, and this time, Kaladin let himself put his hands on his shoulders. He was firm, solid, grounding. He needed to stay in the moment, not get sucked back into his memories. Adolin started to kiss his throat again, nuzzling. A warm hand trailed down his chest, his abdomen, to the length of his cock. It stroked him a few times until Kaladin let out a breath, relaxing into it. Apparently, that was what Adolin had been waiting for, since the warmth around his cock was gone and, in a few moments, an oiled finger was teasing around the rim of his ass. 

“Do it,” he said. He didn’t need all this coddling. He could take it. One finger was nothing. One finger was something even surgeons did, when necessary, to test the reflexes of someone who might be paralyzed. 

The first was easy, the second almost as much. The third burned, but when he let out the barest of grunts, Adolin eased back to two fingers, stretching and working in more oil, before pushing the third finger back inside. It was clear from his angling that the man’s knowledge of anatomy was not as extensive as Kaladin’s, but he was thorough, at least. And with that mouth at his neck, his erection was hardly flagging. 

After a small eternity, those fingers were gone and Adolin pulled away from his throat. Kaladin watched him slick himself up and align himself to his entrance. 

Anticipationspren popped up around them both until, slowly but surely, the lighteyes pushed inside him. He was not the largest he had taken, but hardly the smallest, either. Kaladin arched his back, seeking out the angle that would hit his prostate, that would make it—

Did he want it to be pleasurable? Didn’t he want to hate him? 

Adolin’s hands cupped his ass, supporting him in the angle he was seeking. Perhaps his knowledge of anatomy was not as lacking as he had thought, or the man was simply able to read his face. Stormfather knows he did not have full control over his features right now. 

“Good?” he asked. 

Kaladin nodded, his hands finding those strong shoulders once more as the lighteyes found his rhythm. 

And then a thought occurred to him. His second master had let him use oil, but denied him permission to orgasm, under threat of a whipping. 

The burgeoning question was soon answered, however, as Adolin took his cock in still-oiled fingers and began to murmur hotly in his ear, “Come on, Kaladin. I want to see pleasurespren flying around you. Come for me. Come for—"

He dug his fingernails into him and muffled a curse behind gritted teeth. As Adolin was seeking, pleasurepsren, like little red winged cremlings, began to fly in frantic circles around him. He could feel him clenching down around the man and soon Adolin had pleasurespren of his own, crying out to the Stormfather. 

Adolin beamed down at him, rolling them on to their sides as he slipped out, leaving Kaladin feeling empty, but not used. The pleasurespren began to circle slower and slower as they caught their breath, before finally appearing to wink out of existence. 

Kaladin sat up, reaching for his clothes, only for a hand to grab his wrist. 

“Sorry, bridgeboy, I told you I was going to take care of you. So that means you’re stuck cuddling with me for a while.” 

Kaladin grumbled that it wasn’t necessary, but let the man pull him back down, and pretended not to see Syl making kissy faces in the background.


End file.
